John Porter had not been successful; ill fortune had set in, and there
was always something going wrong. Horses would break down, or get
beaten by accident--there was always something. The steady financial
drain had progressed even to an encumbrance on Ringwood.

Ringwood was simply a training farm, located close to an old disused
race course, for there had been no racing in Brookfield for years.

* * * * * *

Inadvertently the Reverend Mr. Dolman had intensified the strained
relationship that existed between the good people who frowned upon all
racing endeavor and those who saw but little sinfulness in John Porter's
way of life.

The church was in debt--everything in Brookfield was, except the town
pump. The pastor was a nervous, zealous worker, and it occurred to him
that a concert might lighten the financial load. The idea was not
alarmingly original, and the carrying out of it was on conventional
lines: local volunteer talent, and a strong appeal to the people of
Brookfield for their patronage.

The concert in the little old clap-boarded church, it's sides faded and
blistered by many seasons of tempest and scorching sun, was an
unqualified success up to the fifth number. Nothing could have been
more successful, or even evoked greater applause, than the fourth
effort, "Anchored," as rendered by the village pride in the matter of
baritone singing; even De Reszke never experienced a more genuine
triumph. The applause gradually fell away, and programmes were